


Murder He Quoth

by paper_ravenstag



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dreams, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Implied Mpreg, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Male Lactation, Murder Mystery, Omega Jaskier, Praise Kink, Self-Lubrication, Student Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paper_ravenstag/pseuds/paper_ravenstag
Summary: Rumors of increasingly murderous activity brings Geralt of Rivia to the scholarly city of Oxenfurt. He may have been prepared for monsters, but not an eccentric young omega named Jaskier.----Or, an a/b/o murder mystery seasoned with smut.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 75
Kudos: 659
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> UnBeta'd - All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Tags will be updated accordingly.
> 
> \---
> 
> I do enjoy a good murder mystery. One of the things I love the most about The Witcher games are the abundance of bizarre (and often dark) quests Geralt finds himself pursuing. So I asked myself -- Self? What would make a gruesome monster hunt even more exciting? Why, a smutty a/b/o romance, of course! ;)

_"Oxenfurt – a gem snuggling into the bosom of the Pontar to the east of Novigrad. A cradle erected upon Redanian soil, nurturing the greatest minds not only of that kingdom, but of all the North. To walk its hallowed Academy’s halls is to embark on a journey through learning, from the finest points of Philosophy to the grandest strokes of Art, with stops made to admire Architecture and dissect Medicine along the way."_

_-_ _Pearls of the North – Oxenfurt_

\- -

On the western side of the city where the street sloped and winded down toward the water resided an old tavern that had been converted some years ago into a dormitory for those whom attended the Academy. The top two floors contained approximately six individual rooms that were home to both unbonded and bonded omegas and their partners. Around the back of the building was a cellar apartment which was home to one of the Academy’s youngest and brightest students. His name was Jaskier.

Jaskier groaned and pulled a large feather pillow over his head tightly. Outside his room, small but powerful fists beat at his door in an ever-growing staccato of impatience. He hoped fervently that whomever was outside would give up their incessant pounding and leave him alone to slumber.

“Jaskier! Let me in. It’s almost midday and you promised we’d meet two hours ago! WAKE UP!” yelled the voice from outside.

The young woman put a hand on her hip and stepped back to consider the lock and handle of the door. Well, if he wasn’t going to come out, she would be going in. Brusquely she rolled the simple sleeves of her tunic up to her forearms and pulled a thin metal hairpin out of her messy bun. She knelt down and got to work.

“NEVER!” came a muffled bellow from inside. Jaskier heaved himself up into a sitting position in the middle of his nest, covers still drawn up to his chin. “I’m just so tired, Natasha, I…”

The drowsy brunet trailed off as his door swung open and sunlight poured in. Natasha straightened and slipped the pin back into her fiery red curls as she sauntered in and shut the door behind herself. She proceeded to draw the ratty curtains back from the two small windows that framed the door and turned back to her friend. Jaskier hissed dramatically at the warm sunshine that bathed his pale face.

Natasha rolled her eyes and took a seat at the wooden table near the bed. She propped her long trouser-clad legs up on the table’s only other chair and fixed her friend with a shit-eating grin.

“Such drama, Jaskier… Surely you’ve accepted your fate. You promised that we’d spend the day together and I have no intention of letting you sleep through that promise,” she said.

Cornflower-blue eyes rolled and shut as Jaskier collapsed back into the numerous blankets and quilts that made up his nest. After weeks of research and composition, he had finally finished his essay on the new methods of astronomy as proposed by the Imperial Academy in Nilfgaard. As soon as he had handed the blasted thing in, he had made his way straight to The Alchemy where he plied himself with cheap beer and endless rounds of Gwent. He had returned to his room sometime in the early hours of the morning, just as the sky began to brighten.

“Yes, yes… I do recall making that promise. It’s just that the end of session is abysmal! You know I hardly get to sleep,” he said.

“You’re like a giant pup – so much whining,” she teased. “Yes, Darling, I know that you’re a busy Academy man. But don’t pretend like you’re the only one with limited free time. Sivy’s had me working on this chainmail order for the last three weeks. If I never see another set of mail again it would be entirely too soon,” she mused.

Natasha eyed the open bottle of wine on the table and picked it up to give it a cursory sniff. Pleased that it hadn’t turned, she took a sip and proceeded to pick at the bottle’s paper label with her thumbnail. Despite being an armorer’s apprentice, her nails were always neat and clean.

“Besides,” Natasha continued. “There’s a reason I insisted on today. I’m not sure if you noticed, but next to the market a small shop has moved into that empty space across from Sivy’s. Word from around says it’s run by a sorceress.”

That caught Jaskier’s attention. He sat up again, letting the covers drop into his lap. The brunet’s hair was a tragic bird’s nest, his baggy linen shift engulfing his lean form. Natasha couldn’t help but think fondly that her friend was adorable, especially when rumpled by sleep and unapologetically pissy.

“Truly? I wonder what she specializes in… Herbology, perhaps? Maybe enchantments? What if she has rare books for sale? Oh, wouldn’t that be a treat! We had a lecture recently where Old Man von Gratz went on and on about the library at Aretuza. Libraries so endless that you could never read all those volumes in a single lifetime. I would just die if she had a bestiary or something about Witchers…” he prattled on.

Jaskier slipped from his nest and began to dig through a messy wooden trunk of impressive size. His fingers danced over silk doublets and beautiful leggings before he settled on a soft oat-colored tunic and practical brown cotton trousers. He shed his night clothes with little care for his company. After all, Natasha was not only his best friend, but a beta whom much preferred the attentions of women. She had seen him naked plenty of times.

Slipping the last strap of his suspenders over his shoulder, the brunet walked to his nightstand and quickly went through his morning ablutions. When his face was clean and his soft sable hair combed across his brow, he reached for the final touch: an oil that smelled pleasantly of mandarin oranges. Its purpose was twofold; serving to not only make him smell sweet, but to dampen his natural omegan scent. Oxenfurt was relatively safe for unbonded omegas, but he always preferred to play it safe as the city often saw soldiers from the Royal Redanian Army as well as an abundance of travelers from afar. He dabbed the oil liberally on his wrists and then over the scent glands along his slender neck.

Natasha stood up and pushed in the chairs she had been occupying and took one final sip from the wine bottle to finish it off. She knew that Jaskier would want to head straight to the sorceress’s shop, but she thought it prudent to get some food into him first. Goodness knows how many beers he had had the night before. She knew just the thing to help soak up all that alcohol.

“Let’s stop by the market on our way – I saw fresh pastries on my walk over,” she said.

\- -

When Jaskier was a pup and more often went by Julian Alfred Pankratz, he had begged his governess to deviate from her syllabus and teach him things that were more aligned to his interests: Monsters, mages, magic, and later the mysterious swordsmen called Witchers. Of these topics he could not get enough. This frustrated his governess to no end. She would admonish him for romanticizing such dangerous things, asserting that they would only result in trouble. He summarily ignored her during these lectures.

Jaskier was clever and always found a way to incorporate his wayward interests into his traditional omegan lessons. During art he would paint fiends engaging in whimsical pastoral scenes. For music he would compose ballads on the harpsicord and lute about cursed princesses and the Witchers contracted to save them. Once he had even sewed an elaborate stuffed werewolf out of scraps charmed from the family tailor. His parents were exasperated but could not deny that their son was not only bright but had also successfully cultivated (albeit unusually) the skills most admired in noble eligible omegas.

When he was 16, he convinced his father to let him attend the prestigious Oxenfurt Academy to finish his education. He had begrudgingly accepted that as the noble omegan son of the Viscount of Lettenhove he would eventually be matched and married with the expectation to birth as many pups as his Alpha could bestow upon him. Oh, how he dreaded this fate. If he couldn’t travel the continent and experience all the things he had only read about in his books, he would have to make the most of his time in Oxenfurt.

Perhaps if he could have just one grand adventure before his time was up it would be enough to keep his romantic heart burning for the rest of his days.

\- -

The pair strolled along the river as they breakfasted on a paper sack bulging with fruit and meat pastries. Even Jaskier had to admit that it was an exceptionally beautiful day – the sun was high in a nearly cloudless sky and there was a pleasant breeze coming in off the Pontar. They side-stepped a group of children running along the riverbank and watched a man in a small boat struggle with what no doubt promised to be a sizeable catch.

“Alright, enough of this – I want to go see the shop,” said Jaskier. He dusted his hands off on his trousers and crumpled up the empty sack.

Natasha reached over and brushed a small flake of pastry crumb from the corner of the brunet’s mouth.

“There – now you’re presentable. Let’s.”

Jaskier quickly rubbed the back of his fist across his mouth and nodded. He was so excited. It wasn’t often that mages came to Oxenfurt. But for one to come and open a shop? He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so eager.

They passed through a gate leading back into the city and made their way to the street of shops that led away from the marketplace. Sure enough, across from the Sivy’s was a little shop with a piece of parchment nailed to the door.

The red-head leaned in and read aloud, “Cures for ailments of the body, mind, and spirit. Books, herbs, charms, and magical paraphernalia.” Natasha glanced over at her companion.

Jaskier shrugged and knocked firmly on the closed door. A melodious feminine voice called out from within, beckoning them to enter. 

The inside of the shop was like something out of Jaskier’s own imagination. Gauzy curtains were draped around the room, creating the illusion of a larger space. The walls were lined with innumerable bottles of all shapes and sizes and bunches of fragrant herbs hung drying from the rafters. Crystals glittered in the low light; the space lit dimly by candles and the muted sunlight which filtered in through the frosted glass of the shop window. Leather-bound books were stacked everywhere; both on shelves and on the floor in leaning towers. In a word, the shop was magnificent.

The proprietress of the shop was equally magnificent. Although she appeared youthful, her hair was the color of ash. Her eyes, which shone with kindness, were the color of polished garnets. She rose from her seat and stepped out from behind a worktable to greet them.

Jaskier admired her dress immediately – it was crafted of fine cerulean blue cotton with a plunging embroidered neckline which served to highlight her ample bosom and fine collarbones. He was delighted -- Sorceresses were just as beautiful as their stories made them out to be.

“Good day,” she said. “You are both most welcome in my shop – especially you, little omega.”

The brunet tilted his head curiously and looked at Natasha in question. The redhead shrugged her shoulders, also unsure of what to make of that greeting.

The sorceress smiled, making her look even more lovely than before. She spread her hands and gestured around the shop.

“I always welcome those who have passion and curiosity. After all, it’s not every day that I get to meet one such as yourself. Most of my clientele consists of those looking to cure an ailment… A lingering curse from a rival. Headaches that simply won’t fade. Alpha impotence,” she listed off.

Jaskier and Natasha both grinned at each other. Alphas. They often joked and made fun of the alphas in town. How could one not when they were always posturing and acting ridiculously? Neither was particularly interested in an alpha partner – especially Jaskier who did his best not to think about his future husband as often as possible.

“But you…Why don’t you and your beautiful companion look around? You will surely find something that captures your fancy,” she suggested kindly.

A large smile broke across Jaskier’s face and he winked at Natasha, who to her credit did not blush. Rolling her leaf green eyes, she smirked and walked off to look at a collection of daggers laid out within a sturdy glass case. Leave it to an armorer’s apprentice to head straight for the weapons.

The brunet found himself wandering the entirety of the shop. He was careful not to touch anything though, knowing enough that even the most innocent objects could hide unfortunate consequences. The last thing he wanted to do was something stupid like unleash a djinn.

The sorceress silently studied the young omega, pleased by the caution and respect he exhibited toward her wares. There was something special about him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He seemed so healthy and vivacious, and yet somehow so sad. What did Destiny have in store for this young man? She hoped it was happiness.

Eventually the omega decided upon several books out of the many he wanted. He commended himself on his self-restraint and carried his finds to the proprietress to ask after their pricing. She lifted the small stack from his hands and shuffled through the volumes to read the titles.

“Heraldic Animals. Elemental Empires. My Evening with a Witcher… That last one is quite salacious – did you know that all Witchers are alphas?” She winked at Jaskier.

The brunet grinned and lowered his eyes as a comely bright blush graced his cheeks. He was hoping he would find something like this. Of all the adventures he had grown up reading, those of the Witchers had always been his favorite. Who else but a Witcher had first-hand knowledge of battling monsters and romancing mages? He was going to enjoy the hell out of this book during his next preheat.

“350 crowns for the lot. And because I like you, young man… How would you like me to pull back the curtain of Destiny? It will be just a glimpse, as it is unwise to seek more than that,” said the sorceress.

Jaskier balked, looking suddenly as if all the wind had been taken from his sails. He knew what Destiny had in store for him. A marriage to some alpha probably twice his age looking for a pretty omega to give him alpha pups and to take to mind-numbing parties. The last thing he needed was for someone to confirm this for him beyond a shadow of a doubt.

“You’re doing it,” said Natasha. “He’s doing it.”

“I’m not sure I would like that…” he began. A frown creased his brow.

Natasha waved her hand dismissively.

“Oh, come on! You love this kind of stuff. Maybe we’ll get a clue about that grand adventure you always speak of,” she pressed.

Jaskier considered his friend’s words before nodding slowly. “Alright,” he murmured. It really was too great an opportunity to pass up. How often did one get chances like this?

“Splendid. Come with me,” said the sorceress as she walked toward the back of the shop, ducking under one of the gauzy curtains which hung from the ceiling

The brunet omega hesitantly followed, lowering himself to sit upon a luxuriously plush chair which abutted a high table of dark wood. He shifted minutely, trying to get comfortable on the over-stuffed monstrosity. Across from him, the beautiful woman opened several slim vials and began pouring varying amounts from them into a shallow bowl made of smooth white stone. She scooped a small spoonful of dried herbs from a lidded container and sprinkled the macerated leaves on top of the liquid in the bowl. Taking a breath, she exhaled slowly, murmuring words in what could only be Elder speech.

“Now give me your hand, pup.” She reached out a pale hand to him, her long fingers hovering open over the bowl.

Jaskier did as he was asked, but soon startled when the contents of the bowl suddenly caught fire. A thick acrid smoke rushed up his nose and he began to cough in starts, his eyes watering profusely.

“That’s it… Breathe it in. I know it can be unpleasant,” whispered the sorceress.

A small whine of distress escaped his throat. He felt as if the smoke was coating his esophagus and seeping down into the depths of his lungs. Just when he thought he could bear no more, it happened.

Gruesome images flashed before his eyes; scenes soaked in blood and darkness. A robed figure hovering alone in the shadows. A dark, damp place filled with bones; so many bones. Large, rough hands reaching for him. Eyes the color of pitch. A claiming bite that dripped blood in long rivulets down his neck.

Jaskier screamed and plunged into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt dreams and has a talk with Vesemir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead, my friends.
> 
> Unbeta'd - all mistakes are my own.

Geralt climbed up the winding staircase, his fingertips skimming along the familiar stone blocks that made up the wall. As he grew closer to the top landing, he paused for a moment as the soft words of a song floated to greet him. Inside his chest, his normally slow heart began to beat just a little faster.

_…Over the valley_ _  
This house among the trees  
Where we've been hiding  
Making our memories  
And I'm deciding  
You are my one and only love  
And we'll be over the valley  
As the moon shines above…_

Standing on the balcony silhouetted by the late morning sun was a young man with sable-colored hair, swaying gently as he sang. He spun slowly, singing sweetly to his audience of one: a dark-haired pup in his arms.

The pup noticed him first and let out a happy squeal. Bright blue eyes flit up and a wide smile spread across the singer’s face. He bounced the pup once in his arms to readjust his hold on the little boy and stepped back into the room.

“You’re back! Done already?” asked the brunette.

Geralt strode forward to meet the shorter man, his lips twitching as the pup made grabby hands in his direction. He reached out and carefully lifted the little one into his arms, tucking the small boy into the curve of one muscular arm. The pup let out a soft sigh and nuzzled into his neck, scenting him happily.

“Lambert,” said Geralt, by way of explanation.

The younger man laughed brightly and nodded. “Oh yes… He did have quite a bit to drink last night, didn’t he? I don’t know how many times he asked me to play “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher”… I dare say I lost count by the end.”

Geralt reached out with his free arm and pulled the other man to his side, pressing his nose into the silky dark locks atop his head. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. The clean smell of citrus and mint, with the subtlest hint of lotus flower. A deep, gravelly rumble came from his chest.

An answering purr came from the omega in his hold, slender limbs wrapping around the Witcher’s hard torso. For long moments, the three of them basked within the warmth of each other; content.

“What of Eskel and Vesemir? I can’t imagine the old man letting the both of you skip sparring just because Lambert was hung over.” The shorter man propped his chin on Geralt’s chest, gazing up into amber cat eyes.

“Hmm,” grunted Geralt in acknowledgment. “And you would be right. Eskel and I took turns against Vesemir and running the walls. Lambert kept stopping to puke in the bushes.”

“So that’s why you smell so good… You smell like sunshine and sweat. But mostly sweat,” teased the omega. He unwrapped one arm from around the Witcher and reached up to stroke his pup’s thick curls.

“How was he?” asked Geralt, looking down at the little boy tucked snugly in his arm. “Not too much trouble, I hope?”

“We’ve had an easy morning – He only woke up about an hour ago. It’s amazing how much this kid can sleep! He must be raring up for a growth spurt,” said the omega with a pleased smile. “We had a bit of brekkie and now I think the little devil is ready for a day of adventure!”

The pup squeaked in delight at his mother’s dramatic tone, hiding his face behind a curtain of milk-white hair. Geralt chuckled and rubbed the pup’s back in soothing circles.

“I bet we could get Eskel or Vesemir to watch him for a couple of hours…” said Geralt.

“Truly?” The omega perked up, clearly liking the suggestion.

“Mhmm.”

“Well I won’t say no to free pup care. As long as you’re sure they wouldn’t mind?”

Geralt lifted the pup to eye-level and leaned in. “Want to spend the day picking flowers with Uncle Eskel? I bet he could use an assistant.”

“’Skel? ‘Skel!” squeaked the pup, nodding.

A wide smile spread across the Witcher’s face and he pressed a kiss to the pup’s rosy cheek.

“Then it’s settled. Let me take him down to Eskel now – he said he’d be in the armory for a bit,” said Geralt.

The omega walked over to a chair near the balcony and picked up a small red woolen sweater with a hood. He slipped the garment over the pup’s head, pulling his little arms through the sleeves. He and the pup shared a quick nuzzle before he nodded to Geralt.

“Hurry back,” murmured the omega as he gazed up at the Witcher through his lashes.

Oh, Geralt hurried.

The slam of the wooden door and the turn of the lock heralded his return. He had barely turned to go and seek out his mate before he was assaulted by a much smaller body wrapped in a shimmering silk robe the color of the deepest sea. His omega must have changed into something more comfortable after he had stepped out.

Long, calloused fingers curled behind Geralt’s neck and pulled him down for a delicious kiss. The omega’s lips were soft and full, eagerly parting for the slip of his tongue. The younger man moaned softly into the kiss and pressed himself tightly against the muscled front of the Witcher’s body. His little mate was already hard and wanting.

“Don’t make me wait,” whispered the omega. “I need you, Alpha.”

Geralt growled and hefted the other man into his arms, encouraging lithe limbs to wrap around his waist. He continued to kiss the brunette as he walked blindly toward the large wooden bed against the far wall. Without warning he tossed the omega onto the still-rumpled sheets, earning him an undignified squawk. 

“Ugh, you brute! Is this how you treat the mother of your pup?? By the gods, I’ll – I’ll…Mmm…”

He was silenced with a slow, sweet kiss. Geralt pulled back, a toothy grin that showed off the sharp points of his fangs gracing his lips. Sword-calloused fingers pulled down the neck of the robe, baring the omega’s neck to his gaze. Amber eyes raked over the shiny pink scar of the mating bite upon his mate’s graceful neck. He groaned and leaned down to lick at the perfect impression his teeth had left behind.

Large hands continued down the omega’s body, pausing to pull at the tie holding the robe closed. Geralt took a moment to admire the trembling form of his mate. Miles of porcelain skin flushed in growing excitement. Long, slender limbs that slid restlessly across the sheets. Small, supple breasts that still swelled with milk for their weaning pup. Generous hips that led down to a flushed, dripping cock.

“So beautiful,” breathed the Witcher, one finger tracing the hard peak of a dusky nipple. He stared, mesmerized as a single dewy drop of milk swelled and dribbled onto his fingertip. “Fuck.”

The brunette arched his back, eager for the touches to continue. He threaded his fingers into Geralt’s soft white locks, encouraging him to bring his lips to his body. Not in the mood to deny his mate anything, the older man acquiesced and lavished open-mouthed kisses across the omega’s lightly furred chest and stomach.

“This is hardly fair, Darling,” breathed his mate. “Get out of those clothes immediately!”

A throaty chuckle escaped Geralt and he pulled away to relieve himself of his linen shirt and worn trousers. Cornflower blue eyes sparkled as they roamed over the alpha’s incredible physique.

“Fuck…How did I get so lucky?” said the omega to himself. “So fucking lucky.”

Geralt leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to his mate’s lips before encouraging him to roll onto his belly. Reaching for a plush feather pillow, he slipped the cushion under the brunette’s hips to raise him up a bit.

The younger man was practically vibrating with excitement. He peaked over his shoulder and grinned at Geralt. “Am I getting lucky this morning or are you?” he teased.

Instead of receiving an answer, large hands settled on the generous curve of his ass and parted his cheeks to expose his flushed entrance. The omega was absolutely dripping wet. Geralt groaned deeply and leaned in to lap at the escaping slick with the flat of his tongue. He licked at his mate’s hole with broad strokes, as if to try and clean him up before beginning to devour him in earnest.

The chamber was quiet except for the wet sounds of his feasting and the breathy exclamations from his mate. With fingers curled tightly in the sheets, the young omega rolled his hips languidly in encouragement.

“Oh…Oh…Alpha…” breathed his mate.

Geralt sucked firmly at the brunette’s hole before slipping a long finger in alongside his tongue. The omega’s body accepted his intrusion enthusiastically; strong internal muscles rippling, trying to pull him deeper. Geralt slipped in a second finger and fucked the brunette’s hole with his digits roughly.

“You are most delicious, my love, but I can wait no longer,” growled Geralt.

The lithe brunette pulled away from his mate and scooted up the bed until he was up against the mound of pillows piled at the headboard. He beckoned the older man closer with the curl of a finger and leaned in to lick at the dimple of his chin as he was caged in with the other’s body.

“Like this,” said the omega. “I want it like this.”

The alpha grunted and claimed his mate’s lips in a searing wet kiss. He wrapped a large hand around his straining cock and gave it a few strokes before guiding it into the omega’s body. A high whine came from his mate and Geralt groaned in reply. The clutch of the younger man’s body was exquisite; warm, wet, and so damn tight. They launched into a frenzied pace, bodies rolling together in perfect tandem.

The brunette clung to his much larger mate and buried his face in the other man’s neck to drown in his scent. Between his whines and mewls, Geralt thought he heard the omega saying something as well. Though his mind was heady with lust, the Alpha lifted his head to gaze down at his mate in question.

Lust-blown blue eyes met his and the omega gulped for air. “Breed me, beloved. Give me another perfect pup.”

\- -

Geralt sat up suddenly and groaned deeply, disoriented. His amber eyes swept around as he tried to get his bearings. Dawn was still an hour or two off and there was a low fire burning before him. He heard Roach knicker softly, shifting nearby.

“You alright?” asked Vesemir from across the fire. The older Witcher broke a large piece of wood in half and fed both fragments to the blaze. The fire crackled merrily as it licked at the dry wood, jumping higher and making the small clearing brighter for a moment.

  
Geralt didn’t meet the other alpha’s eyes but grunted in affirmation. “Just a dream.” He stood to stretch and walked over to Roach to pet her head affectionately. The chestnut mare nudged her head against her master’s chest, appreciative.

“The same one you keep having?” asked Vesemir.

“…Yeah. Same one,” muttered Geralt.

“Want to tell me about it?”

Geralt did not particularly want to, but as his heartrate returned to its normal steady beat, he turned to look at his mentor and nodded. What did he have to lose? He had been having this dream or some variation of it for months now.

“I’m at Kaer Morhen and there’s… an omega there. He has a pup with him – a small boy,” began Geralt. The white-haired alpha gave Roach one more pat before walking back to the fire to sit on a small boulder.

“I see. Do you know this omega?” asked Vesemir.

“No. I mean, I do in the dream. But I don’t know _who_ he is,” said Geralt.

Vesemir is silent, waiting for the other to continue. Geralt rubs his face roughly in exasperation, trying to unscramble his thoughts. How did one make sense of a dream? The longer he was awake, the more the details of the dream began to slip away like tendrils of mist over the water.

“I think he’s my mate – in the dream. I’ve never seen him in my life, but that’s the feeling I get. Something about him feels familiar – like home,” said Geralt, clearly uncomfortable.

“…and so that pup is yours, I take it.” mused Vesemir. “Hmm. I wonder what this all means…”

“It means nothing. It’s just a dream. Witchers don’t take mates,” said Geralt firmly.

Vesemir chuckled and picked up another piece of wood for the fire. He tossed the piece in his hand a couple of times, making it spin before catching it and doing it again. “Almost correct, Wolf. While it is mostly true, we do have records of Witchers who have taken mates in the past --- it’s just exceedingly rare.”

“WHAT? I have never heard of this; not once.”

The older alpha shrugged and tossed the wood he had been playing with into the fire. “There weren’t many, and I don’t know the circumstances around which led to any of them. But it’s true. Our lives are not a particularly good match for the traditional family dynamic, but… I’ll be the first to admit there are a lot of things I don’t understand in this world.”

Geralt grunted dismissively. “Well, not interested. The last thing I want is anyone needing me.”

“In a restless world like this, love has ended before its begun,” sighed Vesemir.

“You sound like a bard,” grumbled Geralt.

The older Witcher chuckled and sighed. “Still headed to Redania, Wolf?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Geralt. “Sounds like there are a growing number of unexplained murders piling up in Oxenfurt. You?”

“Didn’t have any plans after the last contract. I suppose I could continue on with you until Oxenfurt. Heard an old friend opened up a shop in the city,” said Vesemir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Jaskier sings at the beginning of this chapter is "Over the Valley" by Pink Martini.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Vesemir arrive in Oxenfurt. Jaskier meets Geralt and dies inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the great delay - updates to come more frequently!

The impromptu morgue set up by the Redanian royal government was a hobbled shack on the edge of the Pontar. The noble city of Oxenfurt had recently experienced a rash of murderous activity and frankly, there really wasn’t anywhere proper to store the bodies. So far local authorities had failed to make any connection between the growing pile of corpses. Some hypothesized that there was a predator preying on young omegas out late at night. Others surmised that there was a serial killer plucking off alphas on the way home from the tavern. In short, both alphas and omegas were among the victims and local authorities were puzzled.

Jaskier nibbled on the edge of his thumbnail as he poured over his notes, perched upon a wooden stool in the corner of Sivy’s shop. Sivy himself was out for the afternoon and such as it was, only Natasha (and himself by association) were left to watch the establishment.

“What could it be? There has to be a common thread amongst all the victims… What do these alphas and omegas have in common? Nature’s polar opposites… And not a beta in the bunch. There’s got to be a thread…” he sighed.

Natasha looked up from the pauldron she was hammering away at and nodded thoughtfully. “Right… Let’s think about how they disappeared, maybe? From everything I’ve heard they were last seen in the evening and found the following morning. Obviously, something is happening in the night. Vampires, maybe? I mean, shit… Aren’t all the creepies active at night? I swear that’s what Gran always said growing up…”

The omega sighed heavily. “Yeah… I mean, disappearing at nighttime doesn’t exactly rule out a whole lot. I mean basically we know it’s not like, a Noonwraith.” Jaskier made a face and a frustrated sound.

Natasha turned the metal in her tongs slightly and tapped gently at a corner to unfurl a wrinkle. When she was satisfied, she dipped the piece into a bucket full of blackened water and set it aside. 

“Perhaps we won’t have to play amateur sleuths for much longer. I saw they posted a notice on the board about the murders. You know what that means – Notice board = Witchers.” She wiped her hands on a rag hanging from her trouser pocket and sauntered over to Jaskier and picked up his flagon and took a long pull of water.

“Nasty witch! Give me that! I even brought you your own earlier,” said Jaskier as he batted at her hands, trying to take back his cup.

The red head rolled her eyes and set the flagon back down with a thump. “Yeah, but you left it by the forge. It’s all extra warm and gross. In any case, didn’t you hear a word I just said? WITCHERS.”

Jaskier felt his cheeks flush and he absently rubbed at his face with his hand. Witchers. It was no secret that he both admired and wove intricate fantasies in his head about the fabled monster slayers. Theoretically he was quite practical in his fantasies. It was widely regarded that Witchers were all alphas and walked what was called “The Path”. They didn’t take mates or sired pups. They wandered the continent and slayed monsters for coin and resolutely moved on. He imagined this meant that occasionally they must take lovers – pleasure for a night and then they melted away with the morning mist. He wanted to believe that if the opportunity presented itself and he miraculously found a Witcher that struck his fancy and he struck theirs, he’d be afforded an evening of pleasure to sustain him until he was aged and grey.

The brunette swallowed and fiddled with the edge of his pen, rolling the object between his fingers. A single night with a magnificent lover who wouldn’t have any demands of him. No alpha pups to birth, no stiff and formal parties, no stuffy manners and fake smiles… Jaskier huffed and licked his lips. Just an alpha and an omega, coupling in a manner so primal and magnificent… In a dance etched deeply into their natures by Destiny herself. When the Witcher inevitably left, he’d send the man off with a final sweet kiss and turn to face his own fate alone, but stronger of heart. 

“Yes, I heard you. But you know how long those notices can hang! What are the chances a Witcher is going to just wander into Oxenfurt looking for work?”

The tarnished bell that hung over the shop’s entrance rang suddenly as the door to the shop was opened. Although he didn’t work for Sivy officially, Jaskier immediately slid off the stool he was perched upon to greet the newly arrived guests and immediately froze. 

Two men had entered the shop and he for once had no words to utter. One (the older, presumably) absently wandered over to a rack of long swords and inspected one with an experienced eye. The younger (presumably), strode directly to the counter and placed two swords on the worn countertop.

Oh fuck. There were Witchers – plural (!) in the shop.

Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes flashed over to Natasha in panic and she strode up to the counter without missing a beat. Damn, she was fierce.

“Be needing repairs?” she asked, wiping her hands on the leather apron upon her hips.

“Yeah,” said the man at the counter. “Also wanted to see if you could craft something for me. I have diagrams. And coin.”

She tipped her head slightly in interest and held out her hand for the papers the Witcher placed into her palm. “Let’s see… Oh this is interesting… Looks like whatever this is, it’s supposed to be both tough and light? I’ve read about armor that’s tempered in beast acid. It yields pieces that are both highly resistant to impact, but feather-light. Neat. But I don’t exactly have acid like that on hand.”

The man at the counter smirked. Jaskier gulped. Who the hell was this Witcher? He had hair the color of milk and was all chiseled jaw and had high sheer cliffs for cheekbones. Far more handsome than any of the nobles he had grown up seeing at his mother’s parties. He had what looked like a week’s worth of stubble on his jaw and the omega wished he could know each and everything about him. Would his cheek feel coarse or would it feel magnificently soft? Did he like apples in his venison stew? Did he leave fang-shaped bruises on the partners he took to bed?

“Got that too,” rumbled the white-haired Witcher. “Archgriffin. I’m no master armorer but I’ve heard that this is highly valued in Skellige for its forging properties.”

“Purportedly entire sets of armor have been forged with Archgriffin acid that the wearers could barely feel. Bran the Swift is said to have led a group of warriors against a tribe of ice giants clad in such armor…” volunteered Jaskier hesitantly.

Amber cat eyes flicked up and peered around the beta girl before him to the boy behind her. He was slender, dark-haired, and had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He smelled strongly of oranges and faintly of something softer and heady… Lotus flower? Definitely omega. Alphas smelled bitter and betas of barely anything at all. This… This boy smelled incredible.

“Yeah. A man supposedly took a ship’s anchor to the chest and lived to tell the tale,” said the Witcher. 

“A fool to be sure… But that’s what they say. About Archgriffin acid, anyway…”

Natasha carried the two swords to the anvil and began stoking the fire in the forge to begin repairs. Not looking up from her task she queried, “You both wouldn’t happen to be here to look into the murders, have you?”

The older Witcher looked up from the sword he was examining and flipped it in his grip to test the heft. “As it were, yes. I take it it’s the talk of the town?”

“Rightly so, Master Witcher,” said Jaskier. He slowly approached the two Witchers and traced an anxious fingertip around a familiar whorl in the wooden countertop. “We were actually discussing the murders before you both arrived. The Redanian army is either stumped or understaffed, but nobody has made a lick of progress if you can believe it…”

“Told you,” said the handsome Witcher to the other. “Headed this way because it sounded like a guaranteed contract. What do you know? Anything beyond what’s on the notice?”

Jaskier’s heart skittered in its beating and he clenched his fists. Of course he knew more than what was on the notice – as soon as it sounded like something wicked had descended upon Oxenfurt his imagination had insisted that this could very well be his one, great adventure. He had soaked up every detail about the murders like a veritable sponge. He had politely questioned the ladies that ran the produce stalls and eavesdropped upon men at the tavern. If anyone knew anything about the recent murders, it was he. And perhaps the doctor who ran the morgue tent. He still hadn’t found a convincing reason to trespass there and investigate the bodies that had been found.

Leaf-green eyes flicked from Jaskier to the Witchers and back. Natasha set down her hammer and picked up a rag to wipe the tarnish from the blades she had been working upon. “Like you wouldn’t believe. My friend here has been following the events since the first corpse bubbled up from the Pontar.”

“Have they all come up from the water?” asked the elder Witcher curiously.

“Yes, I believe so. So much so in fact they’ve set up shop on the shore to house the bodies. By my last count we’re up to six…” said the omega who gazed up into the enthralling amber eyes of the younger Witcher. What did these look like, drowned in lust? Did those pupils bleed to engulf the amber and shine black like the deepest night sky?

Jaskier was dying inside. Yes, by his fanciful calculations, a Witcher was the most ideal lover to take before he married. A sterile man whose feet naturally carried him away until his presence became nothing but a whisper of a memory. But… But how could such a magnificent specimen of alpha not be meant to sire entire litters of pups? Gods above, Jaskier’s loins quivered. The very thought of having this man’s pups made him feel weak.

“Next logical stop seems to be this morgue, Wolf,” said the older Witcher. 

“Mmm,” grunted the handsome Witcher in agreement.

Natasha placed the twin swords upon the countertop and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “I can take a whack at that diagram if you give me the acid and a day. I’m about to close shop for the day, but I don’t have much to take care of tomorrow morning so I could get a start then.”

“Great. The name’s Geralt. Willing to leave a deposit or even pay in advance if you like,” said the milk-haired Witcher.

“Deposit will do – Sivy would be livid if I took on potential work for free. Shall we say… 400 crowns? Oh and 80 for today’s work.”

Geralt nodded and dug out the agreed upon number of crowns from a leather pouch at his waist and stacked them on the counter. His gaze shifted back to the omega who had been standing aside so quietly. “Thanks for the information, Little One.”

“…Yeah…Happy to help. Murders are…bad.”

Geralt’s mouth quirked. Cute. He collected his swords and nodded to Vesemir. With that, the two men exited the armory shop. If timing favored them, they would be able to catch whomever was in charge of the tent before they either took their evening meal or called it quits for the evening.

Several beats of silence passed between the two friends; the sound of the forge humming in the background filling their ears. 

One. Two. Three.

“Fuck,” whispered Jaskier and Natasha in unison.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best friends are the best. Bodies that have been in the water for awhile are...gross. Side-jobs at your local brothel can be pretty awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some misgivings about this chapter. I've read and re-written parts of this numerous times and I'm still not sure I'm satisfied with the outcome. I guess the perk of a digital platform is that I can come back and edit this chapter if I wake up with Will Graham Night Sweats (TM)??

\- -

“He’s the one,” said Jaskier as he gathered up his possessions and began packing his satchel. He stopped his pen from rolling away with his foot before stooping to pluck it from the floorboards.

“The one???” questioned Natasha. She leaned back against the counter and hoisted herself up to sit on the wooden top. “You know I’m the first one to encourage your crazy ideas, but explain what you mean by ‘the one’?”

The omega finished closing the last buckle on his bag before brushing his sable fringe from his eyes. His blue eyes absolutely sparkled.

“He’s my perfect Alpha,” said Jaskier, grinning dumbly.

“WHAT? Let’s walk that cart and pony back a bit… Obviously you’re attracted to him. That, I understand. But how did you get from handsome stranger all the way to perfect Alpha?!”

“He’s my perfect Alpha,” repeated Jaskier dreamily. “That gorgeous face, physique straight out of a heat dream… Did you see his scars? I bet he’s just covered in them… In any case though, he is circumstantially the perfect Alpha for me.”

The omega’s countenance went from whimsical to glum in a matter of heartbeats.

“I’ve always known that I would never get to find, meet, and fall in love with my mate. I’m pretty sure my parents have had someone selected for me since I was 10. You know I’ll be sent for once I’m done with my studies here. I just… I just want to know what it’s like to be with someone I’m attracted to… Someone I choose. Just once.”

Natasha sighed and opened her arms to her friend who stepped into her embrace, tucking his face into the curve of her neck. She rubbed his back firmly in soothing circles and gave him a tight squeeze.

“…and you’re thinking that since he’s a Witcher he won’t get you with pup and he’ll naturally just leave?” she asked him quietly.

“…Yes…” came the muffled reply against her neck.

“Oh, Jask…” she murmured.

Jaskier was her sweetest and closest friend. Natasha wondered in that moment if she told him often enough how much she loved and appreciated him. It was so easy to forget that behind the laughter and the constant banter was a young man weighed down by the expectations of the Redanian nobility. The thought of anyone even trying to contain or diminish his spirit made her chest positively ache.

“But…What if he breaks you with his knot? Then what?” she asked quietly.

The brunette in her arms shrieked, pulled away and began to giggle. Natasha grinned back, glad to have lightened the mood somewhat. Who was she to begrudge him this wild fantasy? It _was_ crazy. But so was Jaskier when he wanted to be.

“Well… Then I suppose they’ll just have to send me to a nunnery, and I’ll play the lute for the rest of my days on my broken bottom!” he declared boldly, one hand waving in flourish while the other dramatically smacked the curve of his rump.

“Oh gods, you are the worst!” said Natasha as she tried to contain her own laughter.

The two friends were wiping away their tears of mirth from the corners of their eyes when the bell above the door rang out. A mousey young omega swept in and closed the door behind herself.

“I can’t believe it! I’m so glad I caught you, Jaskier!” said the omega. “Are you free tonight? Madame Llorra wants to know if you’re able to play the parlor this evening. Business has been a little slow since folks are scared to be going outside at nights…She’s hoping that by having you, more clients will come and enjoy themselves.”

Jaskier considered the request for a moment before nodding. It had been awhile since he had played for a sizeable audience and the clients at The Camellia were always generous with their tips and kind attention. It wasn’t so much that he needed the money, but he did love the opportunity to play and sing for others.

“Well, that’s that, isn’t it?” said Natasha. “Go on, Jaskier. I know you want to bathe and get beautiful before you perform. I’ll clean up here and meet up with you later at The Camellia. Oh, and if you’re torn between the gold or the crimson doublet, my vote is crimson. Get going!”

Natasha shooed the omegas out; she had a shop to close and an idea to mull over.

\- -

Geralt lifted the corner of the burlap sheet covering the third body and sighed. Thus far the bodies he had examined had very little in common beyond the fact that all three has begun to rot at an alarming rate. According to the doctor on watch, all of the bodies were only several days old, but by their rank composition, one would have assumed they had been left to the elements for far longer.

The white-haired Witcher lifted his head as he heard a chuckle from the other side of the room where Vesemir was examining another body.

“Something funny?” asked Geralt.

“Forgive me, Wolf… I was simply thinking of the omega boy from the shop. He was looking at you just this, unquenchable thirst.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and went back to checking the slashed abdomen of the male omega’s body before him. The wound was extensive but there was something off...Clearly the man had taken the injury while he was still alive and yet it seemed almost like the wound was done as an afterthought. Was it done to disguise the motive of the murder?

“Not to mention, he seemed to know a lot of details on this contract that weren’t officially listed,” continued Vesemir. “Eager to be helpful. Unlike this body, unfortunately.”

“Hmm,” answered Geralt neutrally.

Moving further down the corpse, Geralt felt along the body’s limbs and paused when his fingertips brushed two ragged puncture wounds on the inside of one of the thighs. He pulled gently at the putrid flesh, trying to get a better look at the wound beneath the tent’s faint lamplight. Around the punctures was a smear of reddish pink that came away on his fingers. Lip paint?

“Did any of your corpses have lip paint on them?” asked Geralt, rubbing the slightly waxy cosmetic between his fingers.

“Now that you mention it… Yes, this one does. At the neck, here. I’ve got punctures too,” said Vesemir.

“Bruxa, maybe? I didn’t see any bites on the first two I checked… Though there were slashes that would have bled extensively. It could be a careful feeder… Trying to disguise its activity…” said Geralt thoughtfully.

“Could be,” agreed the older Witcher. “I think we need to find out a bit more before we declare it a Bruxa. Though with your luck, it actually will be one.”

“You’re telling me,” said Geralt with a snort. “Vampires…”

Geralt stood up and straightened with a grunt. Why was he so stiff? He supposed it had been a fairly long day on horseback. They had set out early at first light to try and get to Oxenfurt in a day. They had succeeded but his lower back had suffered for the effort. What he wanted now was a mug of ale and scalding hot bath.

“Maybe you should find the omega boy and see if he knows anything else,” suggested Vesemir casually.

“I should, should I?” asked Geralt, flatly.

“I won’t do you the disservice of pointing out that you might be being difficult for the sake of being difficult. Are you honestly not attracted to him?” asked Vesemir.

Geralt snorted.

“It’s not a matter of whether or not I find the boy attractive; I do. I’m just not what he needs. Nobody needs a Witcher like that. I’d only disappoint him when I left. He looked so…Innocent.”

“Do as you will,” said Vesemir diplomatically. “In any case, let’s get out of here. These corpses are beyond ripe.”

The Witchers stepped out of the shoreside hut and turned their steps to the archway that would lead them back into town. As they walked they passed mainly soldiers of the Redanian army on patrol. The sun had just set, and braziers were being lit to shed light on the streets of Oxenfurt.

“Gonna go see your friend?” asked Geralt as he and Vesemir came upon a cross of streets.

“Yes, I think so,” said the older Witcher. “Her shop windows were still illuminated earlier and if she hasn’t changed, she’ll still be working long into the night. I always did admire her dedication to her craft. What will you do, Wolf?”

“Hmm,” grunted Geralt. “Was thinking I’d stop by an inn; see if they’ve got a room available.”

“I have a suggestion,” came a voice from behind the two Witchers. They turned and Geralt recognized the girl from the shop earlier. Gone was the soot from her face and she was dressed in a simple cotton tunic and trousers.

“I was just heading to The Camellia to see Jaskier play. You remember him, yes? My friend? You could join me, Master Witcher,” she said. “They’ve got rooms, food, ale.”

“Just Geralt is fine,” said the younger Witcher. Why did this feel like some sort of bad play about ill-fated romance?

“I’ll catch up with you later, Wolf. Let me know what you find out,” said Vesemir as he nodded to Natasha and disappeared into the fog rolling into the darkened street.

\- -

Jaskier pressed a soft kiss to Madame Llorra’s cheek as she greeted him in the entryway of The Camellia. She took in his appearance with pleasure, petting his cheek with the back of her manicured fingers.

“You look ravishing tonight,” she complimented. “Almost perfect. Come.”

The older omega beckoned for Jaskier to follow her down the hall to her bedchamber and office where she plucked a bit of kohl from her vanity. She placed her fingers beneath his chin and tipped his head back, carefully apply the cosmetic around his eyes. She smudged her work gently with a pale fingertip before reaching for a small vial. She twisted off the topper and began dabbing the contents on his lips.

“There we are… Now you are perfection incarnate. Have a look…” she said as she gently steered Jaskier to face the vanity’s large mirror.

The soft glow of the room’s lanterns and the cosmetics upon his skin made him look almost otherworldly. He looked… so beautiful. His large cornflower blue eyes looked even bluer ringed in kohl. His lips looked plump and pinked, as if he had spent long minutes being kissed.

“This lip treatment is just gorgeous…” he murmured, gently touching his lips. He was pleased to see that none of the color transferred to his fingertips. “Wherever did you get it?”

“From Nilfgaard. My brother sent me a package of things popular at court. You know how we Nilfgaardians love our cosmetics.”

She winked at the younger omega and picked up a pristine handkerchief to clean the makeup from her fingertips. She tossed the small square of fabric aside and took Jaskier’s hand to lead him back toward the plush parlor.

“You will be happy to hear that in addition to your beloved Est Est, I have recently received a number of wines from Touissant.”

“Ahh, you spoil me… May I trouble you for a glass?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Madame Llorra as she motioned to a smartly dressed serving girl who nodded and slipped out of the room to retrieve Jaskier a glass of wine. “Why don’t you get settled in the corner?”

The corner was, in Jaskier’s opinion, the best seat in the house. The Camellia was a popular brothel that catered to a primarily alpha and beta clientele of Oxenfurt’s elite. Madame Llorra ran her house with a militaristic precision that made Jaskier wonder on more than one occasion what she did prior to opening The Camellia fifteen years ago. If someone had told him that she had been an assassin or an agent of the Nilfgaardian crown, he would have believed it easily.

He settled himself on his favorite indigo velvet loveseat and began to tune his lute. The sun was just about to set and soon customers would begin to trickle in for an evening of entertainment and company. Several of the brothel’s prostitutes floated into the parlor in a flurry of colorful silks and greeted him excitedly by name. They caught him up on the latest gossip as he warmed up his voice.

“Jaskier, will you play Baby?” asked a doe-eyed omega with golden skin. “You know it’s my favorite!”

Jaskier nodded and cleared his throat, the lyrics falling from his lips as his fingers plucked at the strings:

_…Standing here in an empty room  
I saw you there and my blood ran cold  
Take me back to that long September  
Don't know how I ever let you go_

_I was young, didn't know 'bout love  
You were wild, couldn't get enough  
Gave my heart to another lover  
Don't know how I ever let you go_

_Find me, in another place and time  
If only, if only you were mine  
But I'm already someone else's baby_

_  
Guess I had my last chance  
And now this is our last dance  
You fell through the cracks in my hands  
Hard to say it's over  
But I'm already someone else's_

_Baby, ahh  
Baby, ahh  
Baby, ahh  
I'm already someone else's…_

The room broke out into applause and as he strummed the final notes, the evening’s first patrons began to fill the room. Jaskier picked up his wine glass and took a long, thoughtful sip.

\- -

The Camellia was much like other houses which shared its trade – the interior was lavish, and the prostitutes were beautiful. Geralt had raised an eyebrow when Natasha had led him to an expensive brothel (frankly he had been expecting an inn) and immediately abandoned him.

Even when the coin was good, Geralt wasn’t the type to spend it on places as fine as this. Why pay more for the company of another when they all treated him with at least some degree of fear or disdain? He decided then and there that he’d stay for an ale or two, try and talk to this “Jaskier”, and then…

_  
…I'm dreaming of sleeping next to you  
I'm feeling like a lost little boy in a brand-new town  
I'm counting my sheep and  
each one that passes is another dream to ashes  
and they all fall down…_

That voice…

Geralt found himself drifting from the entryway into the main parlor, looking for that voice singing so sweetly…So familiarly. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised but perched on a plush loveseat was his omega from the shop dressed in shiny crimson silk. Those beautiful blue eyes were closed as he sang, his fingers strumming gently across the strings of his lute.

_… As I lay me down tonight  
I close my eyes, what a beautiful sight_

_I'm sleeping to dream about you  
And I'm so damn tired of having to live without you_

  
But I, I don't mind  
I'm sleeping to dream about you, and I'm so tired

_Oh yes, I am…_

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” asked a lovely, accented voice.

The Witcher hummed quietly in agreement, making no move to turn to see who had addressed him. He did turn though when a tinkling laugh came from the same person who had asked him the previous question.

“Alas… He is not available. Jaskier occasionally graces us with his beautiful voice, but he is otherwise not in my employ. Ahh, but I have not introduced myself… Please call Madame Llorra. Welcome to The Camellia,” said the woman.

“Geralt of Rivia,” replied the Witcher, nodding courteously.

“Come, Geralt…” Madame Llorra deftly slipped her arm into Geralt’s and led him through the parlor to an empty overstuffed sofa across the room from where Jaskier played. Geralt knew the exact moment the omega became aware of his presence. Despite being lost in song, his pert little nose twitched, and his long eyelashes fluttered open. Wet, cornflower blue eyes met his with an open longing that made the Witcher swallow roughly.

Just who _was_ this boy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs Jaskier sings in this chapter are "Baby" by Clean Bandit (feat. MARINA & Luis Fonsi) and "Sleeping to Dream" by Jason Mraz.
> 
> I never meant for this to take on songfic vibes but I almost feel like it was unavoidable because...Jaskier. I listen to music while I write and sometimes songs just catch me in the feels. Hopefully the occasional lyrical bursts aren't too annoying.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a bathtub and laundry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead. 
> 
> Tragically un-beta'd as always.

Jaskier felt like he was drunk. Yes, he had had a few glasses of Est Est but never had he felt the full-body flush that erupted from his very core as he did when _that_ scent touched his nose. It was a thick alphan musk, seasoned with sweat and horse. It smelled amazing. Jaskier felt his hole twitch and he clenched his thighs together automatically to try and stave off the impending wetness. He might have been playing in a brothel but the last thing he wanted was to leave an embarrassing wet spot on the furniture.

He opened his eyes as his fingers finished plucking the final notes of the song. And there, in the flesh, was his Witcher. The man’s entrancing amber eyes bore into his own and he could not stop himself from setting aside his lute and drifting over to the alpha. As if in a dream, the Witcher extended a hand to him, which he accepted and he found himself, shockingly, in the man’s lap. Maybe he was having a stroke. Maybe he had had more Est Est than he thought, and he had fallen and hit his head in the lavatory. Maybe…

Geralt growled softly and gently pressed his nose to the sensitive spot behind Jaskier’s ear and he scented him deeply. Such behavior would have been unseemly in just about any setting, but nobody gave them a second glance in the comfortable shadows of The Camellia’s lush parlor room.

Jaskier swallowed reflexively and leaned into the Witcher’s attentions. His pulse raced beneath his skin and he was acutely aware of the other man’s warmth and all of the places in which their bodies touched. Deities above, this alpha was pure sculpted muscle. He could feel only hard planes of musculature beneath the leather of his armor.

The omega cleared his throat and softly asked, “…so what did you think of my singing?”

The Witcher hummed and pressed a soft kiss to his neck. Jaskier felt his eyes roll back into his head and a burst of slick escaped his body and into his underclothes. Sweet Melitele, was this actually happening? He knew he had a fantastical imagination but in this very moment he doubted his mind could come up with something this intense.

“Little songbird…You sing very well,” murmured Geralt. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard a bird sing so prettily.”

Jaskier felt his cheeks glow with the praise and he tucked his face into the side of the Witcher’s neck to hide his pleased blush. His long fingers reached up and gently tucked a stray strand of milk-white hair behind the alpha’s ear. He petted the surprisingly soft hair for several long moments before sitting up straight to gaze into the other’s face.

“Would…would you like to go somewhere more private? Madam Llorra usually lets me stay the night in one of the smaller rooms on nights I play.” Jaskier smiled shyly at the other.

“Mmm. I could use a bath,” said the Witcher. “You could join me even. Maybe sing me another song.”

“Of course, let me just see someone about that…”

Jaskier pressed a shy kiss to the Witcher’s stubbled cheek and slipped off Geralt’s lap on shaky legs to find a member of the staff. He needed to find someone to arrange food and a bath before he lost his nerve or internally combusted. At that moment, both seemed equally likely outcomes.

\- -

Amber cat eyes blinked rapidly as Geralt shook his head to clear it. The heady scent of the young omegan bard still clung to his armor and the air around him. What was going on? Never in his near 100 years had he ever felt like this. It was like being underwater and drowning in the most euphoric way.

He turned and caught sight of Natasha curled up on a couch with a tall beta woman. She winked at him and mouthed, “Be gentle”. He suddenly felt strangely self-conscious but nodded his understanding and rose to look for Jaskier. Geralt did not have to search for long (rather it could be said that the omega found him) before a familiar form bumped into him as he stepped out of the parlor into the hallway.

“Oh! You startled me,” giggled Jaskier, a rosy flush gracing his round cheeks. “I was just coming to get you – they have a room for us – a bath and everything! Come.”

Geralt allowed himself to be led up two flights of narrow stairs by the hand before Jaskier abruptly stopped before a door and hesitantly turned to face him.

“Oh gosh, this is awkward… I know your name, but I haven’t told you mine, have I?”

Geralt smiled gently and pressed a kiss to the smaller man’s forehead. “I am told they call you Jaskier. Like the flower, yes?”

The Witcher’s heart skipped a beat at the brilliant smile that appeared on Jaskier’s face. The youth nodded and opened the door to their room and pulled him inside. The room was probably modest by this establishment’s standards, but Geralt found it in no way lacking. Living life on the Path meant sleeping outside more often than not and in shitty rooms even when they could be procured.

The room they had been provided with was on the small side but boasted a large copper tub filled with steaming water and a bed that looked unfairly plush. Geralt supposed it made sense – to pay for time here, one would expect it to be comfortable. He was pulled from his thoughts by a gentle hand on the side of his face.

“…would you please kiss me, Master Witcher?” asked Jaskier. He looked nervous, but hopeful.

Instead of answering him with words, Geralt gently pulled the omega’s lower lip from between his straight white teeth with his thumb and pressed their mouths together. He slipped his tongue between the youth’s teeth and licked playfully into his mouth. If the whimper that came from omega was any indication of his pleasure, he shouldn’t have been surprised when the bard leapt up into his arms and wrapped his legs around his waist.

Geralt stumbled back against the door and hefted Jaskier up to get a better grip under his thighs. The omega mewled and sunk the fingers of both hands into his hair and pulled him closer to deepen their kiss. Never before had he had a lover respond to him like this; so hungry and eager… So utterly without fear or apprehension.

The alpha delved deeper into the omega’s mouth with his tongue, letting his eyes slip shut and gave into the moment. He would have to careful – if he wasn’t, surely, he would become addicted to the sweet taste of this young bard. How could one even be the perfect embodiment of innocent sensuality?

Jaskier made a disappointed sound when Geralt pulled his lips away. He ran his tongue over his own lips, chasing the taste of the man whom he hoped desperately would be his first lover. This perfect alpha with his soft smiles and beautiful amber eyes.

“Would you help me bathe? I must smell terrible to you.”

Another smile quirked over the Witcher’s lips as the omega hurriedly assured him that he did not smell awful, but in fact smelled very nice, very attractive. He set Jaskier down and began to remove his armor piece by piece. When he stood in just his linen braies, he turned back to the awestruck omega standing by the tub. Jaskier had shed his doublet and his boots and stood dressed in just his chemise and crimson silk trousers.

“Wow…You’re just…wow,” murmured Jaskier as he took in the nearly naked form of the Witcher alpha before him. Cornflower-blue eyes greedily looked their fill, doing their best to memorize every ripple, every scar. Never before had he seen an alpha quite like Geralt. Sure, he had seen the alphas who worked down at the docks or the Redanian soldiers in town, but none held a candle to this man. He tried not to let his gaze linger too long over the sizeable bulge in the Witcher’s baggy braies. Melitele have mercy.

He swallowed roughly, knowing the Witcher must be able to smell how slick he was. Gods, he was so wet. He hoped that Geralt would consider it a compliment and not think too poorly of him.

Geralt stalked forward to stand before Jaskier and caressed his cheek with a large, sword-calloused hand. “Are you going to keep all this on? It would be a shame for such nice things to get wet.”

With that he slipped his fingertips beneath Jaskier’s linen chemise and pulled it slowly over his head. He was pleasantly surprised by the plush hair upon the omega’s chest. So beautiful and delicate, but still very much a man. Perfection. When he dropped his fingers to the bard’s trousers, Jaskier squeaked and pulled away to duck behind a tall wooden screen. Geralt grinned at his partner’s adorably shy behavior.

Jaskier took a shuddering breath and peeked from behind the screen. “Why don’t you climb in and I’ll wash your hair? I’d love to…if you’d let me.”

“As you wish.”

With that, Geralt hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his braies and slid them off. He felt unusually smug at the way the young omega had openly ogled his body. It felt good to be desired. The Witcher climbed into the tub and groaned lowly in satisfaction. He pulled the small leather tie from his hair and dunked his head to wet his tresses.

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut, took a huge breath and slipped his damp underclothes and trousers off. He gazed down nervously at his petite cock before gathering his nerve and emerging to take a seat behind the tub. The omega reached out and combed his fingertips gently through the Witcher’s wet hair.

“You have the most beautiful hair, you know…” said Jaskier. “It’s like a moonbeam spun into silk, or milk transformed into gossamer.”

A chuckle rumbled from the Witcher’s chest and he closed his eyes as he felt Jaskier pour a fragrant liquid soap over his hair and began to massage his scalp. Mercy, that boy had strong and talented fingers. He wondered absently if it was a result of playing the lute.

“Hmm. Nobody’s ever described it quite that way before,” said Geralt. “Usually it’s more like “wolf” or “monster””.

“Ridiculous and blind, I would call all those other people,” murmured Jaskier as he continued to massage suds into Geralt’s locks. He felt his breast soar with satisfaction and affection as the warrior relaxed visibly beneath his touch. Was this what it felt like to tame a wild beast? Jaskier felt like he could write at least three songs about the awe he felt being allowed in this man’s intimate presence. He doubted the Witcher let very many people see him in this state of vulnerability.

“I’m going to rinse your hair now, if you could tip your head – yes just like that,” said Jaskier. Carefully he poured clean water from a jug over the Witcher’s hair until the last traces of soap were gone.

“There we are – all clean. Let me just – oh! I love this one – hold on…”

Geralt heard Jaskier rise from the wooden stool behind him and the tinkering of bottles on the shelf further back. Cracking open one eye, he tilted his head over the side of the tub to see what his little omega was up to. What he saw only served to stoke the fire low in his belly. The most sumptuous, plush cheeks jiggling slightly in the firelight as the omega wavered on the tips of his toes to reach for something on a high shelf.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered to himself. Who even was this boy and why was he here with a Witcher of all people? Surely, he should have no shortage of offers from prospective mates. Everything about the young omega baffled and fascinated Geralt in equal measures.

“Got it!” crowed Jaskier triumphantly.

He returned the tub, cheeks flushed with happiness. “Madame Llorra orders this special oil from Nilfgaard and it is exquisite. It will make your hair shine and it smells heavenly. Rosemary and some kind of tea extract, I think…”

“Hmm…” grunted Geralt, letting the omega massage the oil into his scalp. “Smells like vermillion tea. I’ve had it once or twice… it smells nice, but it tastes a lot like dirt.”

A tinkling giggle bubbled its way out of Jaskier’s throat, and he reached over to the small table next to him to pick up a bar of soap and a soft rag. “I bet you weren’t expecting that. Dirt isn’t even my third favorite flavor of tea.”

Dipping the rag into the bath he began to rub a thick lather onto the cloth. He paused when Geralt placed a hand on his forearm. “Yes, dear Witcher?” he whispered. Had he done something wrong? Had it been presumptuous to wash his body as well?

“I would like it very much if you would join me. Room for two,” said Geralt.

Jaskier bit his lower lip and grinned. That he could certainly do. He nodded and climbed into the tub. He was allowed to hesitate for only a moment before the alpha pulled him back against that broad, hairy chest. He wasn’t sure if he sighed or moaned – maybe both. He felt like fireflies were dancing their way through his body as he leaned into the alpha’s hot, naked form.

Geralt ran the backs of his wet fingertips down Jaskier’s throat, pausing at the dip between his collarbones. He rubbed at the small space before nuzzling his face into the fragrant sable locks of the pretty omega. Geralt gently took the sudsy rag from Jaskier’s limp hands and began to wash the other with gentle strokes.

“This ok?” asked Geralt softly. He cleaned one long porcelain arm and moved to the other, admiring the small beauty spots that dotted the omega’s skin. Jaskier released a quiet hum in affirmation, unable to help but melt into the Witcher’s easy touch. Never had he considered that simple touches could feel quite so good. Unhurried passes of a washrag, the trickle of water rinsing away the bubbles… It was like time was coming to a stop just for him so that he could enjoy this moment. He said a silent prayer in his heart to every deity he could think of, thanking them for this night with Geralt.

As the Witcher’s hands washed lower, so he began to pepper Jaskier’s neck with kisses and soft scratches from his stubbled chin. Just as one large hand slid past his belly to wrap around his cock, the alpha bit him gently on the shoulder. Jaskier keened in pleasure and lifted his hips to meet the other’s touch. Pleased, Geralt continued to lavish slow touches upon him, stroking the omega’s rigid length. He let his fingers venture slightly lower and pet at the velvety skin of his taut sac.

“Beautiful little lark,” Geralt murmured. “You make the most incredible sounds of pleasure.”

The omega squirmed between his legs, wordlessly inviting the alpha’s fingers to go lower – to go where no other had ever touched him before. Geralt brought up a hand to cup the front of Jaskier’s throat, not putting any pressure, simply holding. Pressing a kiss behind the younger’s ear, one calloused fingertip dipped deeper into the water and sought out the omega’s entrance.

“A-Alpha!” gasped Jaskier.

Geralt hummed and nibbled at one adorable ear, circling his finger over the slick opening but never pushing in. “Fuck, the way you smell… So delicious and sweet. It makes me want to spend hours tasting your skin…your slick.”

Jaskier’s throat bobbed beneath the alpha’s fingers as he swallowed. “Yes, please… Anything you want. As long as it means you keep touching me, I want it! Please, Alpha…”

The finger tracing Jaskier’s hole became two as Geralt tested the give of the opening. It was slippery and softened from arousal, but still extremely tight. The Witcher groaned. Had it simply been some time since the bard had taken a lover or was he truly as pure as he smelled? At that moment Natasha’s mouthed request returned to the forefront of his mind. He would be gentle with this rare beauty and be sure to leave him sated and happy.

“Hmm… Let’s finish up here and leave the tub. I want to see all of you, little one.”

The alpha received a bright smile from Jaskier who took the cloth and soap from him to return the bathing favor. The sable-haired omega washed him tenderly, but thoroughly. And… if he lingered to make sure Geralt’s generous cock and balls were extra squeaky clean, neither of them commented on it.

\- -

“Girl! I need you to hang these sheets on the line,” huffed the harried washerwoman. She motioned hurriedly for the mousy omega to grab the large wooden basin which overflowed with freshly scrubbed linens.

“Goodness, it’s always a pleasure to have Master Jaskier come and sing for us but I swear it triples the laundry…”

The young woman nodded in agreement and hefted the basin onto her hip to take the wet laundry to the lines out back. She was probably a third of the way through her pile when she heard a soft whistle behind her. Without turning she smiled and said, “Is that you Pitar? You know I’m working tonight…”

When she didn’t return inside, it took the staff of the Camellia over an hour to realize something was amiss. All that was left in her place was the unfinished laundry fluttering gently in the evening breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my... What just happened there?


End file.
